He's Rumpling Her Bedding
by LinkehCrescent
Summary: How their lives go on after everything else is said and done. Sweenett.
1. Chapter 1

He's Rumpling Her Bedding!  
A Bloody Romance.  
By: Link (51712 on wajas, link91993 on Neo)

Chapter One--

The sun cast its murky yellow light over Fleet Street once again. It was greeted with the normal grimaces and curses that always came when a new day of work dawned and the people of London were roused from their beds. Mrs. Margery Lovett was already in her small kitchen, kneading carefully at a lump of dough. The table top was covered in flour, as was usual, and so were the hands that worked on it. The lady hummed slightly to herself, not looking up when the bell on her door jangled.

"Sorry, sir, it's a bit early for pies," she remarked instantly, not thinking that it was a certain barber in for his breakfast. But when there was no response, she immediately realized who it was, and quickly stammered a more appropriate greeting.

"Oh, Mr. T, excuse me, I had forgotton." Luckily, she hadn't forgotten to pop the daily batch of homemade biscuits into one of her small ovens, so she was prepared for him never the less. She slid the tray out of the oven with quickness that only came from constant use of the skill, and drew out one of the clay plates that were normally graced by one of her satisfying pies.

"Here you are, love," she said, pushing the plate towards him. She didn't receive a thank you, and didn't expect one. She gazed at him for a moment. "Want some meat with that?"

He looked up at her, his hard brown eyes matching nicely with his ragged black hair and locking unto her pale, victorian face. He appreciated neither her joke or her cheerfulness, and she knew that. She sighed, crossing her arms in front of her barely concealed chest, the lacy black fabric scratching at her bare skin. Moving back to the counter, she realized that Toby would expect meat with his breakfast as always, so a trip to the cellar was in order. She gave Mr. Todd one last longing look before descending the cold stone steps that led to her cellar, an empty bowl clasped tightly in her hand.

Once she reached the cellar, she studied the lean pieces of meat she had jaggedly removed from their owners and thrown in a messy array the day before. She sifted through the pile until she found a piece that took her fancy, then dropped it into the rusty metal grinder that loomed over her and cranked the handle, a soft grunt of exertion escaping from her lips and echoing off the stone walls. Her efforts were rewarded, as always, by a bloody pile of ground beef. At least, that's what everyone but herself and Sweeney thought it was; in truth, it was human flesh, which strangely enough, tasted much better than the normally used, expensive type of meat known as beef. And it was free! Smiling slightly to herself, she filled the bowl with every last bit of the ground meat and hurried back up the stairs. Mr. Todd was gone, the biscuits eaten and the plate in it's place in the tub of dining ware meant to be washed.

"Good morning, Mum." The sweet greeting was laced with a child-like affection.

"Ah, good morning, Toby, darling," replied Mrs. Lovett, setting the bowl of meat down on the counter beside the dough she had been working. "Hungry, I s'pose?" Toby nodded eagerly, and a smile played across the woman's face. "Meat'll be right up."

She molded two small balls of the meat into patties and removed a rarely used skillet from a nearby wall. She wouldn't have even had a skillet if it was not needed for her own personal cooking, which she did very rarely. She sat the skillet over an already lit burner and cooked the patties through, popping two biscuits open while doing so and adding the patties to them to make small sandwiches.

"Here you are, love," she said, sliding the plate in front of the boy. "Eat up. It's Friday, and you know that Friday's bring a lot of customers." She tucked a few strands of her wild, curly red hair behind one ear and busied herself with the rolling pin and a lump of dough.

Toby nodded and shoved one of the biscuits into his mouth, not knowing that he was eating a farmer that until yesterday had lived miles away in a little farmhouse with his wife. The ex-farmer's wife now assumed that he had been cheating on her and had decided to stay with the other woman, since he had not arrived home at the proper time, when in actuality he had loved her very much and had been getting a shave to look presentable in front of her when he returned. The wife had secretly been seeing the stable boy while her husband was at work, so she didn't miss her husband much at all.

The rest of the morning and the early afternoon went by routinely and uneventfully for Toby and Mrs. Lovett. Both worked on the dozens of pies that would be gone that evening, though Toby had worked only in the kitchen, for under no circumstances did she allow him to enter the lower bowels of her house.

Mr. Todd's day also passed routinely, that is, if you count killing every other person that walks through your door routine, which of course, he did. At the moment he was talking to a gentleman that had come in for a quick shave while on his lunch break. Todd was gently stirring a creamy mixture up as the man rambled on.

"And that was the last time I talked to her! Can you imagine someone's own loving mother doing such a thing? Kick me out of the house she did, for the second time too, in fact. Said I should have learned from the first time, she did." He lifted his head slightly to allow the barber to brush the cream onto his neck.

"What a shame," remarked Todd, not actually sympathizing with the man. He latched his strop to the back of the chair and slowly slid his favorite straight razor up and down, keeping the glimmering edge sharp. He then made a motion as to begin his job, but at the last moment struck, slitting the mans throat easily and unexpectedly. Warm red liquid spluttered out of the newly formed opening, covering the floor and spattering the large window that made up one wall of the shop. Todd quickly wiped his razor clean on the man▓s shirt sleeve, and then stomped on the lever. The body went shooting straight to the cellar, it's landing softened by the three men that had unknowingly visited the killer earlier in the day. Todd took a damp cloth to the blood that was now gracing three of the walls, and slid his now blood laden vest off. He then replaced the straight razor in it's holder at his side, and switched the sign on his door from it's cheerfully written 'Open' to the not so cheerful 'Closed'. He descended the stairs that bordered the building and led to Mrs. Lovett's new outdoor dining area. A canary chittered, and the grusteque barber snarled at it, immediately silencing the small bird, which ruffled it's chest feathers defensively.

Soon he was in the pie maker's kitchen. She wasn't there, but Toby was, which was unusual this time of the day. The young boy looked up from where he was mopping the floor with a wet rag. His brown eyes grew large at the sight of the barber and he immediately scrambled to his feet, slipping slightly on the wet stone floor. Todd reached out and grabbed the boy's arm, steadying him and preventing the boy from cracking open his skull on the unforgiving stone floor. It wasn't because he liked the boy, but he was good for errands and he kept Mrs. Lovett occupied.

"Thank you, sir," said a very grateful and very surprised Toby. He tilted his head slightly, which would have casued a slight cooing sound from Mrs. Lovett, but had no effect whatsoever on the barber. "Are you looking for Mrs. Lovett?"

"No."

"Mr. T!" cried Mrs. Lovett, rounding the corner that separated her work station from her home. She was clearly over-joyed to see him, as she had stopped slipping her black lace gloves unto her hands and instead pulled them off. "Here you are, Toby, dear."

She pressed two shining pennies into the young boy's hand, who looked at her gratefully and then scurried out the door to do whatever pleased him. Todd watched the young boy leave, knowing what was about to happen. Mrs. Lovett could be very predictable sometimes.

She flitted forward, and he didn't move. She got extremely close, and laid her hands against his chest. He looked down at her, trying extremely hard not to push her away. He could tell from the way she moved that this was more then just an attempt to gain his fancy. She carefully slid her hands up his chest and stroked his cheek thoughtfully, as if trying to decide where to start.

"Mrs. Lovett." He said it as a warning, reminding her that he didn't want her and wouldn't do this. He still loved his first wife, and had a hard time beleiving she was actually dead. For all his deeds, he was still somewhat a proper man, even if it was covered with the pain and hate he felt inside. Never would he take Mrs. Lovett.

Normally, she would sigh and back away after that, but this time she just drew closer. He repeated her name again, this time his tone even harder and laced with anger. In response she stood on tiptoe and moved her lips towards his...

In a moment, her back was pressed against him. His right arm was wrapped around her neck, and the straight razor that had been dutifully at his side was now pressed menacingly against her neck. His left hand held her head back, and she shivered as his hand warmed the back of her head.

"I'm not above killing you, Mrs. Lovett," he whispered into her ear, pressing harder with the non-sharp edge of the razor.

"You wouldn't kill me, love," she whispered back to him, a smile forming on her face. "If you didn't need me, you would've killed me already."

Normally, Mrs. Lovett chose not to talk in situations like this, but today she was feeling overly confident. She knew that she could end up dead, as she didn't doubt that he could slice her throat open with the un-sharp side of his blade.

"If I wasn't here, you'd have no barber shop. No place to stay. No meals. And you wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing your customers eaten." The words, now that they were out in the open, seemed to flood from her mouth. "You'd have to find something else to do with the bodies. And bodies can't be hidden forever, love. Bones are much easier to hide and it's harder to tell what they are."

Todd shut the straight razor with his thumb, and spun Mrs. Lovett around to where she was facing him once again.

"My my, Mrs. Lovett," he remarked in a hushed voice, studying her carefully. "Where has this sudden bout of confidence sprang from?"

Her smile faded for a moment, but sprang back unto her features as he let her wrap her arms around him.

She was quiet, so he continued, "You're somewhat right, as always, my pet. But, what would you put in your pies if I wasn't around?"

She smiled cheerfully at him and replied quickly. "Pusses!"

"And what exactly would you do if I didn't aggree to give you what you want?" asked Todd, his voice low and aggressive again.

"Simple. I would stop making pies. I have enough to get me through."

"Then I would stop killing men."

"Then you wouldn't have anything to do but be with me anyway."

"I could bake you into one of your own pies, my pet, and then my razor would never see another neck." He ran two of his fingers gently down her jawline, as if he would eat the pie himself, and enjoy it immensely. She didn't doubt that he would, but, as always, his touch made her shiver even though it was warm enough out and if it wasn't, her black, lacy, low-cut dress should have been sufficent.

"Someone would notice my absence," replied the pie maker, sounding somewhat unsure. It had taken her a few moments to regain her voice, and she still felt as though her black heeled boots were part of the floor.

"I could leave, and then they would assume you had run off with me."

"Which isn't a bad idea."

He sighed, so she prodded at him some more.

"People already have ideas. It's not like you don't live here with me anyway. You have no idea how many people ask me if we're engaged." At the word engaged she automatically brightened.

"No. If you do remember, Mrs. Lovett, I am married."

"She's dead, my love. You need to move on." She moved his arms to where they encircled her waist and held them in place. "I can help."

The barber looked down at her, a contemplating look on his pale face. She moved her arms back to where they were around his neck, and his own rested just above her bottom. Todd was still undecided about what he should do. Part of him had the primative urge to make her his own, right then and there, while the other part told him to draw away from her tempting behavior. The woman caught the uncertainty in his expression and immeadiatly pressed closer to him, and when she spoke, her breath was warm on his face.

"We can have a life, you and I. Mabye not as I dreamed it, and mabye not as you remember it, but we could get by."

She had used this same string of words on him before, and they had swayed him toward her longings. But the first time, Anthony had busted through the door of the barber shop and crushed the moment. This time there was no one around; absolutely no one to ruin the moment, the one moment that could either fufill her dreams or crush them once again. She watched as his eyebrows knitted together, showing that he was still trying to figure out what to do, yet acknowledging what she had said without him having to say anything. She wanted so much to just press her lips to his, to figure this all out for him, but she knew that it would be so much sweeter if he did so himself. As she had repeated many times to the barber, good things come to those who wait.

She knew her patience was rewarded when he sighed slightly, yet did not draw away. He had attempted to fight off his own craving for her, for the one pleasure that only she could give, and had lost. He pulled her towards him gently, finally responding to her insinuating. She assisted him by standing on her toes as he pressed his lips to hers, and she met him somewhat forcefully. The two remained latched together for several long seconds, both comfortable in each others embrace. Her heart was pounding so heavily she knew that he could feel it through her bosom, and he was using what little self-control he had left to keep his clothes on. She moved her mouth down to kiss his neck in a come-and-get-me manner. Todd moved one hand up from her waist and softly cupped it around her chin, moving her head up to meet him once again. She was suprised by the gesture and came on less enthusiastically this time, allowing him to part her lips, which he did in a manner that didn't fit his appearance or his somewhat rash habits. Once he had gotten a taste of her, he realized what he'd been missing for the past 15 years, and he didn't want to let go. Finally she pulled away from him, and rested her cheek againest his chest. She was begining to feel light headed with a mixture of emotions, including joy, suprise, and shock. She heard him chuckle softly at her, so she looked up at him once again.

"What about your poor Albert?" asked the barber in a soft whisper, refering to the woman's first husband.

Mrs. Lovett smiled. "Who?"

She backed away from him, sliding through his arms and grabbing his hand in hers. There was one more thing she wanted, and then everthing else could wait and she would be satisfied. He knew immediatly what she now expected from him, and remained where he was, even though she tugged persistently on his arm for him to follow her. The man was eager to take what she had to offer, yet he still didn't feel like he could go with her.

She let go of his hand and put her hands on her hips, clearly annoyed that he had to think about a decision she had made many many years ago. This time, it was her that sighed. She took the two steps that led her back to him and patted his chest with one hand.

"Now now, love, you go up and think about it and we'll see how it goes after the dinner rush." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Toby rushed in, holding the door open for several customers. Todd nodded once, then went back into the house to get another vest on. Mrs. Lovett cast a backwards glance at him while setting pies down in front of the awaiting diners.

"Eat up, dears. Toby, one for gentleman." The boy quickly filled a metal pitcher with ale, and then emptied it back into the man's tankard like he was told.

"Good boy," she whispered to him as they were passing each other while waiting tables.

She saw the barber once during the busy hours. He had been standing on the porch outside his shop. She wouldn't have even noticed him, but she had felt as if someone was watching her, and she was right. He hadn't made eye contact with her, so she was still unsure about his decision, and he was ushering a man into his shop before she had time to even get a good look.

The dinner hours normally went by quickly, yet this time it seemed to be a full day before both the inside and outside dining areas were free of people. Lovett set Toby to clearing the tables while she rushed back into her house, trying to decide whether she should put another dress on or not. It wasn't like all of her dresses were enticingly tight and low-cut... wait... yes they were. She flicked pickyly through her wardrobe, then decided on the one she had one. She liked how it hugged her curves tightly, and she was rather partial to black lace that made up most of the fabric. She bustled back out into her shop, pulling down her hair in the process. She stopped just before she reached the living room, fixing her hair quickly in the mirror propped againest one wall. Todd sat in a chair in her living room. Mrs. Lovett wouldn't have seen him if he hadn't spoken.

"Where are you going, my pet?"

She jumped at the soft words, and spun around with one hand clutched over her heart.

"Oh, Mr. T! You startled me!"

He stood up, prowling towards her. She flitted towards him eagerly, letting him pull her to him until they were but a few inches apart.

"Ooh, Mr. T," she repeated again, this time in a softer tone that was full of anxiousness for what was to come.

She kissed him, a kiss brimming with burning passion and impatience. She felt one of his hands at the small of her back, and the other was buried in her unrulely red hair. She was still the one to pull away from him, however hard it was.

"I better do something about the boy," she whispered to him, fondling a strand of his own unrulely black hair. "Give him a bottle of gin."

He let her go after a short pause, and she glided over to the mantle, grabbing the bottle of gin that could always be found there.

"Toby!" she called, uncorking the bottle. It was only a split second before the boy was in front of her.

"Yes, mum?"

"Here you go," she told him quickly, pressing the bottle into his gloved hands. "You did good tonight. Drink up."

He looked down at the bottle then up at her. "Wow, thanks, mum."

She patted him fondly on the shoulder, then flitted back into the living room, her dress swishing lightly around her ankles. She took the man's hand again and this time he didn't hesitate before following her into her down the hallway and into her bedroom.

The room was femininely decorated and all the furniture was victorian. Lovett pushed him down to where he was sitting on the bed, looking a little unsure of himself. She then sat across his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. He smiled at her for the first time since she suggested using human meat to fill her pies and wrapped his arms around her waist. Both the barber and the pie maker were hot with cravings and peaking horomones. He undid the two buttons keeping his vest on and moved so she could slid it off of him easily. She then ran one hand softly down his cheek until she reached the two top buttons of his white shirt, which were always undone, and moved down to the third one, which she slipped open with ease. He closed his eyes at her caressing touch, his mind immeadiatly taking him to a night long ago when he was with his Lucy.

But this was different. Mrs. Lovett set about everything she did with energy and excitement, and this was no exception. He noticed she was trembling with excitement as she undid the last button and slid his shirt off. Her eyes fell on the straight razor that was in it's place in the hollister at his side, and his hands immeadiatly fell to his belt, which he quickly took off, along with the razor. She smiled at him, and went cold as she felt him parting her hair so he could easily untie the back of her dress. Her stomach churned with willingness and anticipation as she felt the dress coming up over her head.

Soon her dress was in the floor, his arms were around her again, and he was pulling her towards him.

Soon she was kissing him again, her lips greedily taking in every movement of his own. She pulled away from him for a moment and turned off the oil lamp sitting by the bedside, causing the room to turn black.

Thus the dream of Mrs. Lovett was fufilled. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two--

Thin morning light slanted down through the rooms only window and onto the occupied bed. The wane sunlight did little to warm the chilly air, and the woman in the bed shivered as she began to awake. She awakened fully as the arms around her tightened and she was pressed againest the warm body of the man beside her.

"Lucy," mummured Sweeney into her ear. "You're freezing."

Mrs. Lovett felt waves of cold ripple through her as he called her by his wife's name.

"No, love," she replied, her heart preparing for a harsh response. "It's Margery."

"Margery.." repeated the barber. "Margery Lovett?"

"Yes."

He didn't respond, and in the moments of silence the pie maker's heart seemed to stop beating.

"Mrs. Lovett?" the man finally asked. She felt his cool lips near her ear and she trembled, not knowing what to expect.

"Yes?" She spoke it as a question this time. The word had to come out slowly so she could stop her voice from shaking as much as she was.

She knew that Todd wasn't one for quick responses, if he responded at all, yet the few seconds it took him to answer her seemed like all of an eternity.

"I think I'd better go."

"No! Don't... please..." Her voice shook with normally hidden pain that showed that she thought that if he left her this once, that he would never come back to her again.

The barber hesitated. Lucy had never begged for him, for his touch, for what he could give her. A hint of how much he really meant to her flicked through his mind, and he sighed slightly. He hated comparing this woman to Lucy. But he realized that it wasn't because he felt as though he was being dishonorable to his first wife, but he felt as if not even she could compare to Mrs. Lovett.

"I can come back," he whispered to her, suprised at the words that seemed to fall naturally out of his mouth. He'd gone without a woman for fifteen years. So why did he want her to roll over so he could easily press his lips to hers and begin again what had ended late last night? He even felt his arms loosen around her, leaving her free to do just that.

But she thought that he was telling her to leave, instead of inviting her back to him, so she sprang daintly out of the bed and flitted about the room, searching for the various undergarmets she needed. He sat up and watched her nude form move around in the dim light. A tinge of disappointment registered in his mind as she slipped a pair of panties on and then moved on to lace up her corset. Disappointment... had he ever had such a feeling? Even as the Judge had slipped through his fingers, he hadn't felt disappointment, just raw anger. Had he ever really felt anything but anger before this? Even now that the Judge was dead and eaten, he still thought he was an empty shell, a ghost of a man. But now he felt strangely dissappointed.

Todd got out of the bed, slipping on his trousers quickly. Mrs. Lovett, who was adjusting herself in her dress, didn't notice him slide out of the bed and move towards her. She squealed as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He chuckled lightly at her reaction as he gentlely spun her around to face him.

"I said I'd come back." He moved one hand to the back of her neck. She gave him an annoyed look.

"I didn't know you meant so soon. Why'd you let me get fully dressed?"

"Makes it more intresting." He smiled at her, and her heart fluttered with delight. She pressed her cheek againest his bare chest, in complete bliss. He kissed the top of her head. He had just prepared to lift her head up when she drew away.

"Better open shop." She giggled as he glared angrily at her. "Now you know what I've felt like most of my life."

He continued to glare at her as she danced from the room. The way she played with him, the way she lured him towards her until he was bending to her wishes was incredible. He wanted so much to trail after her like a puppy. Part of him thought that she wouldn't be able to keep this game up and that he could soon have what he wanted, and the other part told him that she would do this until he broke, becasue she knew it would be better as his cravings for her grew.

The barber tried to ignore the pie-maker as he trotted through the kitchen, now fully clothed. His right hand even rested on the straight razor latched to his side in hopes that the cold silver would distract him from her.

"Good morning, Mr. T!" greeted Mrs. Lovett in her sweet sing song voice. Her hands were already covered in flour, yet that didn't stop him from grasping them in his own as she flitted over to him.

Todd leaned forward to meet her waiting lips, but at the last moment she snaked away. He felt his quick temper bubble up in him, and he instinctively drew the razor at his side.

"Dang it, woman!" he spat at her, brandishing the razor. "If you won't give me what I want, I'll take it!"

Instead of drawing away fearfully as he advanced on her, she grinned at him.

"Now now love, that's cheating."

He groaned, snapping the razor shut, and stalked out of the room and up the stairs into his own shop. She smiled to herself and worked at the dough in front of her. She had waited for over 20 years, and he could wait a day. Or two. Or however long in would take him to break.

Back up in the shop, Sweeney set about the task of polishing his razors and dusting off his chair. His thoughts, which normally drifted towards Lucy, went immeadiatly to the nude form of Mrs. Lovett, and he felt the saliva in his mouth grow warm with want. Soon he was pulled from his thoughts by a jangling bell.

The customer was a seafaring man. The barber knew this by the smell of salt that seemed to eat up the clean air and by the client's weathered face.

"Good morning, sir. Come in for a shave, have we?" greeted Todd, gesturing for the man to sit.

The man examined the room carefully while undoing his necktie. He then ran his eyes down the barber, a judgemental sneer forming on his face.

"I come to get cleaned up before going back downstairs to that lovely pie maker," said the man, now sitting in the chair. "I visited her shop for breakfast, and she seemed eager enough."

Rage boiled inside the barber at the thought of another man even looking at Mrs. Lovett. He hid it well from his client, and sat down his razor so he could gently brush shaving cream on the man's face.

"She came right up to me," began the man. "Was all over me, she was."

Sweeney realized that this was another step in her plan. He was glad that this time he didn't have to hold in his anger. He picked up the razor again and made as to begin his duty, but at the last moment, he stabbed the man viciously in the throat. Liquid spurted from the life taking cut and covered the barber's face. The barber laughed wrathfully and slammed his foot on the lever, sending the man down to the cellar. He smiled victoriously as he heard the crack of skull on stone. Wiping the blood off of his face, he felt suddenly refreshed and began to quickly scrub the blood from the floor and from his blade.

The man glanced up as he heard a growling sound from the corner of the room. He had not seen the dog that had trotted in the room behind the man he just 'polished off', as it had been hiding. Now the dog was advancing slowly towards his master's killer, and Sweeney scrambled back, quickly snatching his razor from where it was laying on the ground inches away. The dog lunged, letting out a bloodthirsty howl. He ripped his teeth into the man's arm, loyal vengance shining in the animal's reddening eyes. Todd screamed slightly as his own blood attempted to stain the already soaked shirt. He swiped at the dog with his razor, cutting it's muzzle, but the dog didn't let go. They writhed on the floor for a moment, until Sweeney got a clear opening and quickly dispatched the animal. He screamed again as the now dead dog still clung to his bloodied arm, and the door to his shop was thrown open.

"MR. TODD!" Mrs. Lovett screamed, her voice catching pitch with suprise. She slid to the ground beside him, quickly ripping the limp dog off of his arm. The barber winced as she did so, and she immeadiatly stammered out an apology.

"I've got to get you back downstairs," said the woman, more to herself then to him. "But there's alot of blood.. people will ask questions... Where's your coat, love?"

He pointed out said garment and she fetched it. Then she hurriedly undid the buttons on both his vest and his shirt, and he held in a groan of pleasure at her soft touch. He closed his eyes slightly, and she said nothing. The drip drip of blood was the only sound in the room, and after so much time of seeing it, it didn't bother either of the two.

Mrs. Lovett carefully slid the sleeve off of his left arm, and took a rag from the pocket of her dress. She tied it hastily around his arm.

"Get up, you great useless lump!" He scrambled to his feet, needing her support. She slipped his coat unto him and fastened it in the front, and together they managed to make it down the stairs and back into her house with only a couple of curious glances by passerbyers.

When they reached her parlor, she pushed him gently down on the couch, where he let out a grunt of pain as he laid his injured arm on the arm rest. The pie maker took the bottle of gin from it's spot and shook it. It sloshed slightly, so she pulled the coat off the barber.

"Hold on," Margery told Todd, hurrying into the back of her house to get a roll of bandages. She returned with the strong off white material and undid the makeshift bandage, which was already soggy. She trickled gin into the bite marks and cleaned the wound, humming slightly to herself. Soon she had tightly wrapped his arm, and the bleeding had lessened.

"I'll be right back with a clean shirt."

"No. Come here. Now, my pet." She cocked an eyebrow at the tone of his voice.

"Are you going to come get me if I don't?" A smile played across her face and she took a step away from him.

His answer was to heave himself off the couch and to prowl towards her. Her brown eyes immeadiatly glimmered with pleasure at the thought that he wanted her, and she let him back her againest a wall, where they both knew there was no escaping. He pressed himself to her roughly and forced her head up to meet him. She gasped for air and attempted to draw away from him.

"Mr. T!" she almost screamed. "You're hurting me!"

She attempted to push him away, but with little effect. This was more like the vicious barber that worked upstairs, and less like the man she had been with the night before. Somehow, she managed to slip from his iron grip. She ran a few feet away from him and stopped, gasping for air.

"What's wrong with you? Have you lost your marbles?"

He didn't respond, just stared blankly at her like he had so many nights before. The woman had thought that she had broken through to him, but she guessed she was wrong. He stood there, watching the tears bead in the corners of her eyes, still watching her as she stomped from the room into the kitchen, then down the stairs and into the cellar.

'Idiot!' his mind cried out to him. 'Why do you hurt the only thing you could ever love? Why do you ruin everything good that ever happens to you? Do you think that the years of slaving away has made you any less foolish? Any less naive? Well, you're obviously wrong!'

He still just stood there, not even wrapping his arms around himself as he grew cold. The voice in his mind sighed.

'If you're going to do this, you need to mean it. Do you mean it?'

Did he mean it? Did he really love Mrs. Lovett, or was she just something that took his fancy for a day or two, something he would later push away? 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three-

Sweeney finally got his mind working well enough to tell his legs to move. He stumbled into the guest room where he normally slept and kept his clothing, and pulled on a shirt, unbuttoning the right arm and re-buttoning it when he had it back on. The buttons slid quickly into their places, and he pawed about the wardrobe for a vest, which he found and slipped on, also buttoning it. He took the back way out of the house and slowly walked down the alleyway, up the stairs, and into his shop. His brown gaze looked lifelessly about the room, coming to a stop at the broken mirror residing in one corner. The man moved to it, and studied his reflection in the broken glass.

Below, Mrs. Lovett sank slowly behind her counter like she had so many times before. Even though he had tried to make a quiet exit, she had heard the jangling bell, so she knew it was safe, that it was safe for her to let out the massive amount of tears she had been holding in. They streamed from her hazel eyes, and she buried her face in her hands and pulled her knees to her chest. She had felt wonderful before, but now she felt as if he had used her. As if she really didn't matter to him, it just happened that it was her that was there.

She was such a fool to think that he might've actually loved her. Any normal person would've been mad for what he had done, what he had tried to do, but she wasn't. She knew that he didn't understand himself; she knew that he was violent and harsh, but she still loved him. Even though she was once again brought to the realization that he didn't love her and probably never would, she still loved him more then anything. The woman knew she needed to pull herself together. People would be coming in soon, and she didn't want questions asked. She just wanted to forget everything that had happened in the past two days, and more then that she wished that Todd would show some of his affection for her like she did to him. She drug herself up from the floor, dusted off her dress, and wiped away the tears that were etching their way down her face.

"Mum, what's the matter?" It was Toby. She had heard her own bell ring, but hadn't paid any attention to it. His little hand wrapped around hers, trying to offer her some comfort. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, love," she sighed. "I'm just about to go down and get the pies. Will you stand at the top of the stairs and bring them into the shop, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am, if you say so," replied the boy, letting go of her hand. She smiled half-heartedly at him, and they both left the shop. She descended the stairs to the cellar, and he stopped immediately at their beginning.

Todd stood staring in the mirror. Was that really him? He ran his fingertips down his face, watching as the reflection did the same. He remembered Benjamin Barker having brown hair. But his was black. He didn't remember the color changing. Benjamin Barker had lighter hazel eyes. His eyes were almost black. He didn't remember their color changing either. He slipped off his shirt and vest again, and studied his body. Long scars inched across his chest and onto his stomach. He remembered being beaten. He remembered the rough, slaving work that had formed the hard muscles on his arms. He turned slightly, his eyes taking in the long scars that were etched forever into his back. He remembered the taste of the whip; he remembered the long nights of having to wash the blood off with salt water. He didn't remember Benjamin Barker having any of these scars, or being this well built. He could see his ribs under the layer of lean muscle. He hadn't eaten in forever. Mrs. Lovett always made sure he had food, but it just didn't appeal to him anymore..

He stared into the mirror once again. Who was this man looking back at him? Was it Sweeney Todd, the person whose name he had taken? His father's name had been Todd, Todd Barker, and that was the reason he had chosen the name.

The person in the mirror, he looked like a monster. He acted like a monster.

But yet, the voice in his mind reminded him, Mrs. Lovett still loved him and took care of him.

He had never responded to her before, and when he had, he'd pressed her far too hard.

Did she still love him? He thought that she probably didn't.

He thought of his Lucy. He thought of how she had loved Benjamin Barker. But was that really who he was now? He had told Mrs. Lovett months ago that that man was dead. Sweeney Todd had never loved anybody before. He had never had the chance to in prison.

Was he Sweeney Todd, or was he Benjamin Barker?

He didn't look like Benjamin Barker, the mirror had proven that. Maybe the man was dead.

Maybe it really was time to move on, instead of wallowing in lost memories and grief.

It was too late for that, though. Mrs. Lovett had given him his chance, many times, and he had crushed it.

Mrs. Lovett. Lucy had always liked her. If it was anyone, he knew that Lucy would grudgingly approve of Mrs. Lovett.

He paced the shop for a moment, deep in thought. He grabbed the picture off of the table and stopped to stare at it. The man in the picture. The one next to Lucy. That couldn't be him. He threw the picture across the room, and it hit a pitcher of water and a bowl sitting on a table on the other side of the room. The pitcher immediately shattered, and the force knocked the bowl to the ground, where it also broke into hundreds of fragments.

Mrs. Lovett had been in her shop, having brought up the last of the pies. Both she and Toby had glanced up at the ceiling when the objects had broken.

"I'll be right back, dear." Toby looked fearfully at her, but she paid little attention. Her feet were leading her up the steps to the room above, but her heart was screaming at her to leave him be, to go back into her house, to not cause herself the pain of false hope ever again.

"Mr. T?" she greeted timidly, pushing the door of the shop open. "Is everything alright?"

The sight of the broken pitcher on the floor immediately cast away all her fear and brought about her normal attitude.

"What in all of London did you do?" she asked him, her voice unbelieving. "I'm going to have to remember not to put breakable things up here anymore, since you always go about breaking them."

She looked up at him. "Are you even paying attention to me??"

He glanced sideways, trying not to look at her. "Yes, of course."

"Then what did I say?" She raised an eyebrow at his strange manner, obviously not believing him.

"That I break everything I touch."

"No... That▓s not exactly what I said, love." The strange response baffled her. "Are you alright?"

He didn't say anything, just continued not looking at her. She walked towards him, and he stepped back, like he used to do. She continued to move towards him and he continued to move back, until he hit the wall and she got close enough to touch him. She pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, and he winced at her soft touch and the memories it brought about.

"You're freezing. Put your shirt on. What were you doing up here, anyway?" The pie-maker reached down for his shirt and handed it to him. He took it and pulled it on, not bothering to button the front.

"Leave me," he said quietly, slowly sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. Her being in front of him, her asking if he was alright, her acting as though she still loved him, it just didn't make sense. It just didn't make sense.

She didn't move. He didn't either. She stared at him, and he stared to her right, not looking directly at her. After a few long minutes of awkward silence, he spoke.

"I said, leave," he repeated, his tone empty and emotionless. But not the normal hard kind of emotionless. He spoke with a different, confused, hopeless type of tone, which really isn't emotionless at all.

"Mr. T..." Her own voice was soft. She didn't understand what he was doing. He didn't understand what he was doing either. Instead of leaving, she sunk to the floor in front of him, her hands resting lightly on her lap. "Look at me."

He shook his head stubbornly, and she sighed.

"Why not?"

He didn't answer her question, meaning that he didn't have a good response, and didn't feel like saying, "I don't know."

Reluctantly, he glanced up at her. A smiling expression greeted him. He quickly looked at the ground again.

"Go away," he said, somewhat pleadingly.

"No," she replied. "I'm not leaving you up here alone."

The two sat in silence, her watching the sun slowly sink below the window, and him staring at nothing in particular. He wanted her to say something or do something. The room grew colder as the sun sat, and she leaned over to button his shirt. His eyes closed at her touch, and she noticed. She pulled away, and they opened, and he was again staring at the ground. She went to button the last few, and watched as his eyes closed for a second time at her touch. She chuckled slightly.

"You miss me, don't you, darling?"

"No, not especially," he responded, trying to sound uninterested. "I'm just... tired."

"We can go down stairs and go to bed," she suggested. He looked at her.

"Don't you have customers to serve?"

She jumped up. "OH! I forgot, love. I will be back later," she called to him over her shoulder.

He finally watched her as she left. Had the barber misunderstood her, or had she said that we, as in they both, could go downstairs and go to bed? He briefly wondered if she meant in the same bed, and then he forced his mind into a state of emptiness, where he thought about nothing, so the pain and confusion would be at bay.

A few hours later, Mrs. Lovett reappeared in the shop, looking a bit flustered. Sweeney didn't look up as he heard the door open, nor did he look at her when she sat in front of him once again.

She did manage to attract his attention when she pulled a lump of folded pound notes from her dress.

"Went to the bank and had all the shillings made into pounds," she told him, flicking through the notes. "Had good business tonight."

"Apparently."

She handed the money to him, and he thumbed through it, counting the pounds in his mind.

"Apparently you had extremely good business. Did you give the boy some?"

"I might've slipped him a shilling or two," she replied, yawning. "Or three. I think I lost count."

He noticed her yawn. "You should go to bed."

"And what do you plan on doing, love? Stay up here all night and freeze to death?" questioned the woman, leaning back on her hands.

He didn't respond, showing that he didn't know if he would stay up here, or go to his bed downstairs. She quickly caught onto his uncertainty.

"You can come and sleep with me," she suggested again, this time more clearly expressing the idea. He looked up at her and raised one eyebrow.

"I thought..."

"What? That I wouldn't love you anymore?" she laughed, moving closer to him. "Mr. T, I've always loved you, I do love you, and I will always love you. If you need me to tell you again I will." She moved onto his lap and kissed his neck.

Sweeney burned inside. Why couldn't his feelings be so absolute, so undoubtable? He wanted so much to tell her what she wanted to hear, but he couldn't get it out. Something inside him would always stop him and remind him of Lucy, and by the time he convinced himself that it could be okay to love Mrs. Lovett, it was too late.

Once again, he missed his chance, as she was up on her feet again and pulling him to his.

"C'mon then, love," she told him, guiding him to the door.

"Mrs. Lovett," began the barber, and she turned slightly to look at him.

"Yes?"

"I-- I-- I..." 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four--

"I... I think I'll stay up here tonight," finished the barber, pulling his arm away from her. "Good night, Mrs. Lovett."

He let the door shut in her face, not wanting to see her hurt expression. He quickly locked the door in an attempt to keep her out, but he knew she had the key, so it was pointless. He sat down on the edge of his chair and stared down at the floor.

Mrs. Lovett stared into the window for a moment, tears beginning to find their way out of her eyes. Without a second look back, she ran down the stairs and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She flopped onto the bed, angry sobs wracking her body.

Why? Why did this happen to her? Why was she tortured like this? Why was it she that felt so strongly for a man who showed no emotion back, who couldn't remember what it felt like to love, who didn't feel like he deserved to love anybody? She wished it had been she that had poisoned herself instead of Lucy. At least then he would be happy. They would be happy together.

If none of this had every happened, if the Judge hadn't been so obsessed with women, then she would still be in her shop in Bell-yard, Benjamin and Lucy would still be living in the house she now resided, and maybe she would've gotten over him. Probably not, but at least she wouldn't have to see him every single day, wouldn't have to wash his clothes and cook his meals.

No, she still would've been miserable, and she'd never had the joy she had the night before. She remembered the feeling of his cool skin, and the feeling of them doing what they had been put on this Earth to do. Even the thought of it made her grow warm and antsy.

She should go back up there to him. She had the key... He probably didn't really want her out; he probably just didn't know what to do. Her heart welled with pity for the man and she jumped out of the bed, quickly pulling a quilt off of it, which she folded and draped over her arm.

If he was going to spend the night freezing in the barber shop, she was at least going to bring him a blanket.

Sweeney had moved to sit against the wall opposite the door. He closed his eyes and thumped his head hard on the wall, each time cursing himself in his head. He heard the sound of a key being thrust into a lock, and soon the door was open, and Mrs. Lovett was striding in. She gently closed the door behind her and turned the lock, leaving the room impossible for anyone on the outside to enter.

⌠▒ello, love," she greeted, stifling a yawn. He opened his eyes and looked disapprovingly at her and the blanket, but didn't move as she sat close to him and spread the blanket over them both.

"You didn' really think I'd leave you all up 'ere by your lonesome, did ya?" She couldn't force back her yawn this time.

"I thought you were going to bed," muttered the man, glad for the warmth of the quilt and her body.

"Not without you I'm not." She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He wrinkled his nose, not sure what he thought about this.

True, he hadn't really wanted to spend all night alone in the drafty barber shop. But he didn't want to hurt her anymore then he already had...

And that's when he noticed the drying tears on her face.

Dang it... he had hurt her again. What was wrong with him? He felt disgusted with himself. He felt her settle deeper into sleep, and wrap her arm through his. He felt her fingers interlace with his own as she fell into a more comfortable position closer to him.

He should take her downstairs to her bed. Sleeping in the shop wouldn't be good for her. If he did so, he was committing to staying there with her. Was that so terribly bad? He wanted her, her warm touch, her kiss. He wanted to hear her singsong voice and see her smiling face.

He knew he would get all of that no matter what he did or didn't do. She would do anything for his attention and his affection, and if she had realized that she now completely had both, he was sure she would squeal with pleasure. Sighing slightly, he moved her into his arms and stood, carrying her with her legs draped across his left arm and supporting the rest of her sleeping form with his right. The wound on his left arm panged slightly at the weight, but he ignored it. She looked like a rag doll in his arms, and stirred slightly when he left the shop.

"Mmm, where are you taking me, love?" she asked, her voice heavy with sleep and almost indecipherable.

"To bed."

She seemed to wake up slightly at his voice. "You plan on staying, don't'cha? If not, put me down this instant."

He chuckled at the thought of her trying to get out his grasp only half-awake.

"Yes, love, I plan on staying."

She snuggled closer to him. "Good."

She somehow managed to drift back to sleep as he carried her through the kitchen and the parlor. Toby was asleep on the couch, and he wasn't awoken by the barber's soft footsteps.

Upon reaching her bedroom, Sweeney laid the woman down gently on her bed and pulled off his vest and shirt before sliding in beside her. He pulled her closer to him and covered them both with a blanket as she had done earlier.

"G'night, love," he whispered into her ear, but she didn't hear him, because she was fast asleep.

It was the first night in over 15 years that the man slept without a single dream of Lucy haunting his mind. He slept dreamlessly, and it was a welcome relief.

"Oh bugger!"

Sweeney opened one eye as the comment reached his ears, and saw Mrs. Lovett examining a rip in the skirt of her dress. She noticed him awaking, and was quick to comment.

"This is what 'appens when you sleep in a dress not made for sleepin' in." She flicked around to look judgingly through her wardrobe.

"It's Saturday. Need to go to market... running low on some things," she said more to herself then him. "Wouldn't mind a nice piece of beef either."

She turned her head to look at him, winking.

"For us, a' course, not for the pies."

The barber blinked, raising himself out of the bed. What was she talking about? He had caught little of what she had spoken.

"What?" he asked, watching as she pulled off her dress and slipped into a different one. She draped the dress over a chair, mumbling about how she would have to sew the rip together when she got home.

"Hm?" she replied absentmindedly to him, finally looking up. "What'd you say?"

"I asked what in all of London you were rambling on about!"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, and a smile played across her face.

"No need to be angry, love. You comin' to Market with me?" She expected him to say no like he always did, and her smile broadened as he spoke just the opposite.

"Yes, of course."

"Well, you best be puttin' a shirt on, love. 'ere, let me check that bandage." She moved over to the man, who was still in the bed, and quickly unraveled the bandage, examining the wound that had just scabbed over. "Look's fine to me, dear."

She threw the bandage over to one side, planning to scrub at it later along with all of the other bloody clothing. He got out of the bed and wandered into the room next door, pulling on a shirt and vest. He tied his brown and white necktie the way he always did and tucked it into his vest, remembering that his coat was covered in blood... He spotted another one hanging on the door.

"Where'd this come from?" he asked the pie-maker when he saw her again in the kitchen.

"Where do you think it came from, love?" she replied, rustling about in her cabinets to see exactly what she needed.

He decided that it didn't bother him that he was wearing a coat pilfered from one of his victims, so he followed her out of the shop and down to Fleet Market.

People called Fleet Market a stain on the city that was London, but Todd didn't think it was worse then anything else. Sure, the whole thing was filled with lying merchants, rotting goods, and rats, but what market wasn't? He walked through the crowd by Mrs. Lovett's side, not really paying attention to her as she chattered on, but enjoying the sound of her smooth voice. He watched her as she made her way down to the butcher, carefully weaving around the people going the other way. When they arrived there, the butcher greeted her politely and watched her hopefully as she eyed the pieces of meat hanging around.

Mrs. Lovett was extremely picky now that she had the money to be.

"Hold these, dear," she spoke to Todd, shoving her lace gloves into his hand. She ran her fingers down a piece that caught her eye, making sure it wasn't slimy.

"How much for this one?" she asked, now addressing the butcher. He eyed her warily.

"One pound, an' that's as low as I'll go, misses. Beef's not as cheap as it used to be," replied the butcher firmly. She shrugged and pulled out a pound note.

"How many shillings to have it taken to my shop?"

"Five."

"Now, that is a bit much," she bargained.

"Fine, three," he mumbled; now just wanting her gone.

"Perfect." She passed him the rest of the money and he pocketed it. Sweeney caught the angry look the butcher gave Mrs. Lovett on the way out, but said nothing.

"We can get everything else across the street, love," remarked Mrs. Lovett, leading him back down to where they started. She had to admit that it was extremely convenient to have a grocery on the other side of the road, and she visited it often.

That's when the barber left her, mumbling about how he should get up to his shop. She nodded and let him go, already surprised that he had spent most of the morning with her.

He ascended the stairs and entered his shop, twisting the sign to read 'open' on his way in. He then went about warming water and carefully stropping his blades to where they had unusually keen edges. While doing so, his thoughts drifted down the normal path, which now consisted mostly of Mrs. Lovett.

The man tried to remember years back, when he was a different person in a different time. He remembered when all the local boys, including him, had grown old enough to court the girls, and he remembered how no one had dared go near Margery, who had already donned the name Lovett at the age of thirteen. That's the way arranged marriages worked. He remembered the way she used to look at him, and felt icy disbelief that he hadn't seen how badly she had wanted him.

But even when he had returned and found that he was a widower, it had taken him months to notice her hinting. At the moment, he wished that he'd had her his whole life.

He was brought back to Earth by a jangling bell. The barber looked up to see Mrs. Lovett enter his shop.

"Hello, love." The words slipped from his mouth before he had the chance to pull them back. Normally, he didn't greet her when she came in.

"Oh, 'ello," replied the pie-maker, stunned that he had said the first words. "Meat's 'ere. Mind taking it down to the cellar for me, darling?"

She knew that if he had carried her from up here to downstairs, that he could manage a side of beef. He placed his razor down and pulled off his gloves. He left the shop to see two men waiting, burdened by the meat. They gratefully gave it to him, and he lugged it easily down to the cellar, with Mrs. Lovett flitting ahead of him to open the doors.

"Hang it 'ere, love," she told him, reaching for a hook that dangled from the ceiling. She managed to snag it with the tips of her fingers, and he hooked the meat on it. "Got a razor on you, I presume?"

She held out her hand for it, and he pulled it from his side.

"Tell me where to cut."

The barber got a lesson from the pie-maker on how to correctly cut a side of beef. Of course, he had already gone about finding out how to cut up a human body perfectly, so it wasn't extremely difficult. The woman took the pieces she would use for their supper tonight and piled them in a bowl, then went to check the pies.

"When'd you find time to put pies in?" questioned Sweeney, wiping his razor off and watching her struggle with the heavy door to the bake oven. Her smiling face was illuminated by the burning flames as she looked in at the pies.

"I've been up a lot longer then you 'ave, love." She swung the door shut. "Still like about 'alf an hour." She pulled down the lock on the furnace, grunting.

"Phew, I'm gettin' too old for this." She looked over at him, the vent in the furnace causing light to play over her.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was moving towards her, and drawing her into his arms. She squeaked in surprise and delight, only to be cut off as he pressed his lips against her own. She didn't know which was worse, the heat from the furnace or the heat his kiss was causing inside her. In fact, she felt beads of sweat begin to form on her forehead, and he pulled away, laughing openly at her.

"Yes, it's very funny, isn't it," she whispered, wiping the sweat from her face. "I'd like to see you work as 'ard as me."

His warm breath on her face wasn't helping anything. The firelight played across his pale features, and his smile made her heart boil and melt. She glanced over his shoulder at the two dead men that were lying on the floor.

"I wonder if they got anything valuable on 'em," she remarked, her thoughts distracted from him until he pressed his unnaturally cold hands against her warm face. She shivered at the tingling sensation shooting down her spine.

"Better?" he asked teasingly, barely feeling the heat from the oven they were standing beside. He stroked her face caressingly with the side of his hand and pressed his forehead to hers.

It took her a few moments to find her voice, and she swallowed before replying, "I'd be better if we got out of this bake house. It's a tad warm in here, love."

He pulled away from her and started back up the steps. She grabbed the bowl of meat still laying a few feet away and bustled up the steps behind him, but by the time she reached the top, he was already back up in his own shop.

"What in all of London did I just do?" the barber asked himself in a whispered yell. The silver razor was still clenched firmly in his hand; it had been during all his actions. He loosened his grip on it and it slid from his hand to lay open on the floor.

The edge, it would've became dull with use by now. He quickly snatched it up and hooked his strop to the hook on his chair, gently bringing the blade up and down it in a slow, motherly fashion, the normal task calming his frazzled nerves.

He needed to get better control of himself around Mrs. Lovett. If not, he might slip, and hurt her again. It was like the monster inside him was growing, being fed once again. Except this time, it wasn't being fueled by hate and anger. It was being fueled with something else entirely, and the barber wasn't at all sure if he liked it. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five--

It was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

The Judge was dead. The man she loved was falling into her grasp. The pies were selling faster then she could make them.

All those years she suffered under the hands of her husband, all those nights tossing and turning and wishing and praying that the barber would return to her were going to be well rewarded.

And it was about time.

Mrs. Lovett scrubbed at a large iron pot, wishing she had thought to do this earlier. The dirty water splashed from it into the sink, dripping down the conduit into the sewer. There. That was taken care of. With a heave, the basin was out of the sink and on top of a burner. A quick flick of a match set the pot quickly heating up, and the water she poured into it sizzled as it met the surface. Soon the air was filled with the rich savory smell of beef stew, which quickly attracted the attention of a certain young boy.

"What's that, mum?" whispered the boy, who still hadn't had enough good solid meals to make up for the lack of such during the first seven-and-a-half years of his life.

"Beef stew. I doubt you'll be able to manage more then a bowl of this, dear," chuckled the pie maker, using a wooden spoon to sift through the thickening liquid.

She felt the boy hovering near her, and his closeness was annoying.

"Why don't'cher make yourself useful and make some bread?" she asked him, her tone hard. Toby smiled and flitted away, knowing that Mrs. Lovett's anger wasn't that easily provoked.

Now Mr. Todd on the other hand... well... Toby didn't even want to think about that man's temper. Just the thought made him shiver, and he quickly set about finding the ingredients to do as he was told.

"What kind?" he questioned, looking back at her.

"Hm," pondered the woman, turning to him. Warm brown liquid dripped from the spoon in her hand onto the floor with inaudible splishes. "Anything goes good with stew, but I'd 'ave to say sourdough."

She watched as the boy's forehead wrinkled. "But a loaf a' that'll take hours ta rise!"

"Precisely!" she said, beaming at him. "So it's a good thing we made some yesterday, aye?"

Toby nodded, now remembering the loaf displayed in the front window. He scurried over to remove it from being showcased and laid it gently on the counter to be sliced. Mrs. Lovett drew a ragged edged knife, and quickly cut part of the loaf into three thick pieces. Then the spoon was back in her hand and dipping portions into ceramic bowls. The boy waited patiently for his serving, and dug into the large portion with untamed enthusiasm. The pie-maker laughed softy, filling another bowl and placing it on a tray, along with one piece of bread. Toby looked up, knowing immediately where she was going.

"Be careful, mum," murmured the boy as the door clicked to a shut behind her. He paused for a moment, watching her go up the stairs, then continued working through the stew set before him.

During the food making process, Sweeney had sat upstairs in his barber chair, taking deep breathes to calm himself. He knew Mrs. Lovett would bring up his dinner, and he was fighting down the fiery feelings that burned in him. Fifteen years slaving in Australia had taught him a hard lesson. That love and passion, everything he was feeling at the moment, was horrible and should be replaced with anger and rage.

This wasn't like him. He was normally in control. It was as if his mind had suddenly decided to backtrack and take the right path when earlier he had gone left. He needed to be cold hearted and indifferent. He didn't want to risk the feeling of pain that he had struggled against for fifteen years, the feeling of pure agony that had almost thrust him off the edge more times then he remembered.

But when she entered the room, the mask was torn away and he sprang to his feet.

'Control yourself, fool!' his mind screamed at him, reminding him of the numbing pain that linked directly to him feeling the way he did now. He quickly slumped back into the chair, regaining his composer.

"Evenin', Mr. T!" greeted Mrs. Lovett, her cockney accent playing along with her sing-song tone. "Brought you up some supper."

He glared at her, attempting to keep his stare blank, but she caught the hidden flicker of excitement, and a smile lit up her face.

"Unless you have other things in mind," she added, her voice taking on a taunting tone that made the man tremble with longing.

Somehow, she had caught onto his ruse. She knew that he was hiding something from her, and anticipation welled in his chest, daring her to come closer, to be the one to tear down the wall he had spent the past hour building.

He held himself back, not moving as she placed the tray of food down on the chest and advanced toward him. He didn't let his head turn as she glided around him, but he couldn't control the way he relaxed as her hands moved to his shoulders, slowly massaging the tension out of him with careful circular strokes of just the right pressure. His eyes flickered closed, but opened immediately.

"What's the matter, love?" she asked him, letting her warm fingers play down his bare neck. "You're acting strangely."

Strangely. He wanted to snort with disgust. She knew nothing of how his own nature was turning against him, forcing him into something he needed and wanted more then he was willing to admit.

"Nothing," he muttered, trying to ignore her. That task was impossible as she moved to sit on his lap. He sat up straighter, his hands quickly clenching into fists to keep his arms from moving around her.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You sure about that, love?"

He was finding trouble breathing with her so close. It was though all his hidden emotions were pushing at his throat, so when he responded, it was barely a whisper.

"No..." It wasn't what he had wanted to say, but it was the truth.

'You're worthless,' cried the voice in his mind, giving up. 'Go on. I suppose you can't do anything worse then you already have.'

He noticed her hazel eyes were locked onto his; he noticed her lips were pursed as she tried to decipher the sudden flooding of emotion that had rapidly taken over him.

"What..." she began, startled by the way he looked at her. Her heart twinged as she suddenly thought of Albert, but the thought was short lived and barely registered.

He shook his head, clearing the emotion off his face. But it was too late. She had already seen what he had been hiding, what he had in him all this time, yet didn't feel like he could let out.

"Mr. T..." whispered the woman, pressing her lips against his, knowing now that this was truly what he wanted, no matter how much he tried to hide it. The satisfaction she felt was a bit overwhelming, and she had to pull away before he even realized what she was doing.

"Mrs. Lovett," replied the man, looking past her to the bowl on the chest. "What is that?"

A smile flickered across her face.

"Beef stew," she answered. "But I'm much better."

"I know."

"Love, if you thought that was good..."

She laughed, and the normalness of it made the barber smile slightly. A match flame of hope flared up in him, warming the monster inside. He could do this. He could spend his life with Mrs. Lovett. His life as Benjamin Barker, if he ever was such a person, would never be forgotten but maybe, just maybe, he could get by.

"I think we could have a life you, and I," he told her, brown eyes catching the fading light.

"I've always thought that." Her cheek rested on his chest, a happy sigh escaping from her slightly parted lips. He finally allowed himself to hold her, to let his fingers trace the curves of her body as she leaned against him. He felt her melt under his touch, and was reminded once more of how much he meant to her.

He was willing to admit that he could possibly have feelings for Mrs. Lovett. He was not, however, overcoming his stubbornness enough to say that his feelings matched her own.

But that leaves us wondering if anyone ever in all of the world could match the searing flame of passion and love that Mrs. Margery Lovett felt for the barber.

The silence of the moment seemed to drag by, and neither of them felt as if they had anything to say to each other. No, not even Mrs. Lovett could find words to express what was fueling her actions. It was hard for her not to doze in her stunningly comfortable position; her head would drop slightly, and in a few moments pop back up. After doing this half a dozen time, she felt a cold hand cupping her chin. His touch sent waves of delightfully chilled pleasure up her jaw line, and she giggled slightly at the unusual feeling. His hand moved, guiding her gently to where she was facing him once again.

As he kissed her, she experienced something she had never felt before. As she let his tongue invade her mouth, the feeling strengthened and she struggled to hold back a tremor threatening to shake her small frame. It was like drinking too much gin, only more in control and so much better. She felt him rise, felt the hidden passion leaking out from wherever he was trying to hide it. She clung to him desperately to keep her balance, as in account of their height difference, she was left totally in his power until the tips of her toes landed on the wooden floor with a slight clunk. The hand that had so recently cupped her chin had found it's way to just behind her ear, and the other rested at the small of her back, undecided on whether it should tangle itself in the ribbon holding her dress on her or leave it for another time.

She felt him begin to withdraw, and she took over, feeling as if this would be the only time he ever loved her, even though her heart told her that was not the case. She had him. He was all hers, and she was all his, just as she had been for as long as either of them could remember.

But would it last? With every moment the monster inside Todd grew, feeding hungrily on the passion, the desire for more of her, the desire to rip down everything that stood between the two, whether it be just clothing or more.

The beast lurked in the dark recesses of the man's heart, letting him feel as though he could love again, he could live again. But when the moment was right, it would spring.

This isn't the happily ever after for the couple; oh no, there's so much more to be told.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6--

Inky chocolate eyes watched a woman flit to and fro from her cellar, each time emerging from the darkness bearing a hefty tray of steaming meat pies. Rough hands clenched engraved silver, one thumb playing up and down the symbols etched onto the hilt, their meanings long forgotten by their owner.

Everytime she moved out of his veiw from the window, his heart would linger in the pause between beats, each pump of blood through his veins threatening to be the last. But then she would glide back into view, her dress swishing lightly about her ankles, and all would be well again.

That is, if all could possibly ever be well in the demonic barber's mind. The eyes flicked quickly from his quarry to the clock mounted just below St. Dunstan's great bell. The face read a quater 'til five. No wonder Mrs. Lovett was so busy bustling in and out with pies that she didn't even look up to see if he was watching her.

He supposed that she just assumed it was so. After everything that had happened the day before, the night before, neither of them should've been suprised.

But he was. He was terribly surprised at how easily he had given up the image and thought of his dearly departed Lucy, and at how he had embraced the oppurtunity that had been given to him over the past few days. He was even more suprised at the thought that he could've had this all his life, but was too blind to see it.

The barber was so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't seen Mrs. Lovett set out for the last batch of pies. He had known that her journey was coming to a close, as he had counted each trayful that she had brought up from below.

The bake oven held three dozen at a time. Over the course of one day, she loaded the oven four times. It took her twelve trips to bring all the pies up, and the last one had been the eleventh.

He barely noticed the man that lingered in the shadows of the alleyway, creeping close to the wall as he followed the woman into the dimly lit lane.

Fortunately, his attention was not distracted enough not to see the familiar glint of light off metal. In a few hasty steps he made it out of the door and down the steps from his shop, peering around the corner to see if his suspesions had been correct, or if he was just being fussy.

Mrs. Lovett had been a bit out of it all day, thinking victoriously about all the success she had at gaining the affections of the barber. She was ripped out her not-so dream world as a hand rested on her shoulder. The woman spun around, a scornful remark at the tip of her tongue. The closeness of the stranger to her put her more off guard.

"What in all a' London do ya think you're doin'?" she asked him, taking a few steps back as he advanced on her. She bumped against the wall, a handful of choice words ringing through her mind.

"My, my, you're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" The man's voice was pleasent and cordial, complete irony compared to his actions. His fingertips brushed a strand of her wild hair away from her cheek.

Sweeney's heart began to race, red mist seeping into his vision as he longed for the man's blood to soak the ground.

"That's what I've been told," replied Mrs. Lovett, sounding just as uncaring. They smiled at each other, and the man didn't see her hand coming towards his face.

WHAP. She met her mark, as always. Blood graced the man's upperlip as he staggered a few paces back, clearly surprised at the sudden act of violence.

"Stay away from me," hissed the pie-maker threateningly, straighting her skirt.

Affection for her pulled at the lurking barber, his grip on the straight razor relaxing slightly. He kept one eye on Mrs. Lovett as she wrinkled her nose at the man, taking a few steps towards her bake house while not letting her eyes leave the injured man. But in a flurry of movement, he was pressed against her once more, drawing a pistol in the process.

"Feisty, are we?" whispered the man, his breath disgustingly warm on her face. The metallic smell of blood dawdled in the air between the two, bringing pleasant memories of a certain barber and his razor to the woman.

She struggled against him, but was quickly stopped as the gun was cocked in her ear. Her heart beat out a furious rhthym, not sure what it should do anymore. She didn't want to be killed, but she didn't want what this man was going to give her.

As she felt his hand clench the skirt of her dress to pull it up, she saw Sweeney prowling up behind the man, and hope flared in her essence. The man lowered the gun slightly, feeling the change in her body.

"Ah, decided to behave ourselves, 'ave we?" Amusement glinted in his curiously blue eyes.

Todd sprung, allowing fury to drown out any other emotion lurking in his depths. The blade slid against bare skin at the back of his opponets neck, red liquid spurting as the man crumpled. Mrs. Lovett pressed her hand to his mouth to muffle the screaming until it died away into a gurgle, the razor having quickly finished its job. She pulled her hand away quickly, ruby drops glittering on it. The pie-maker shook her hand, sending the droplets of blood flying, and heaved the living man to his feet.

"'urry up an' get 'im to the cellar, love," she said, her voice trembling slightly with the gratitude she felt towards him.

The razor blade was quickly wiped clean and replaced in its holder. The barber and the pie-maker sent the body tumbling down the stone steps, and they followed after it at a much slower pace. After taking the first half of the steps downward, Todd paused for a moment. Mrs. Lovett bumped into him in the dark, letting out a startled squeak.

"Are you alright, Mr. Todd?"

He felt her hands on his shoulders as she fought to keep her balance on the step above him.

After the few moments of silence that always acceded one of his answers, he mumbled, "Are you alright, Mrs. Lovett?"

"Yes, love, I'm fine. Gonna take more then that to work me inta a fright." The thought of him being worried about her made her grow warm, but if she had known the extent of his worry for her, she would've felt childish.

"Oh really?" mused the barber, turning nimbly on the small step so he was facing her. The lightness of his tone drove out the last remnants of fear she still held after her encounter.

On the shallow steps, she stood about an inch over him, and him looking up at her and her looking down at him was a new experience. He backed against the wall, pulling her down so they were crammed on to the same step. She was unsteady on her feet for a moment, but he kept her from following the body down the stairs. His lips carressed hers in the black stairway, sending her heart soaring back above ground.

"Mr. T," she breathed, her voice barely audible even though they were mere inches apart. "Thank you."

She heard him chuckle slightly, a sign that he thought nothing of it.

"I can't have some other man taking what's mine," he whispered back to her, letting his hands slide down her sides until the rested at her hips.

Her heart jumped, and she laughed lightly to mask the way his actions affected her. She pulled away from him, her heart yelling at her that anytime could be the right time and the right place, and descended the rest of the steps. She felt him following close behind her, giving her room enough as to not accidently tred on the hem of her dress. She stepped over the body laying at the foot of the stairs, not even glancing at it.

"Mind moving that out a' the way?" she asked the barber, grabbing the last tray of pies. Todd drug the body over to join those of his customers, then attempted to take the tray out of the baker's hands.

"Don't you 'ave your own shop ta be attendin' to?" she scolded, not allowing him to take the tray from her. "Now get up there before you end up like the las' blighter that tried ta 'assle me." 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7--

The house was unusually dark for this time of night. The colder months were drawing ever nearer, so the fire place should've at least been lit, the flames playing across the couch, causing even the most ordinary objects to take a shadowy, deathly glow.

Any light gave Sweeney that type of look, but no one ever really noticed it.

He moved quietly through the parlor, yet its own silence was so thick his attempt at stealth had as much success as a fish trying to live outside of water.

The door to the hallway was closed. It was never closed. Internal heat flared inside him, fueled by an unexplainable feeling that something was wrong.

Where was Mrs. Lovett?

His hand clenched into a fist, neatly trimmed nails digging into the flesh of his palm. He didn't notice the slight pain he was causing himself; he just reached out and turned the knob, thursting open the door.

Even though the force he had put into opening the door was great, it seemed to move on its own accord, swinging slowly open with an un-oiled creak.

The hallway seemed to be more shadowy than the parlor. The man pressed himself against the wall, slinking towards her bedroom door. His mind told him that Mrs. Lovett wouldn't be there; no, she had no reason to be there without him. But deep in his gut he had the feeling that if she wasn't in this room, he would never find her again, no matter how hard he searched, no matter how many people he slaughtered.

It seemed to take hours before the oaken door to her room was in front of him. His hands were dripping, sweat seeping from glands hidden under skin, blood oozing from the cuts his own nails had caused, the salts mingling together to make his palms sting dreadfully.

But he didn't notice. He never noticed.

The door. It needed to be open. He needed to see her standing there, smiling at him, ready for him to take her once again.

He knew she wasn't going to be there. She let off such a cheerful feeling that he could've felt it through the door.

And he felt nothing more than the cold fury he always gave off. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, and it fell from its hinges, dust rising in clouds from the dirty carpet. Todd jumped back a few steps, the sudden noise of the door lighting his frazzled nerves.

The door. It was just the door.

The room inside was darker than the barber's heart, which was beating furiously. He remembered the packet of matches and where they were always kept, and stumbled back through the house to get them, feeling like the clock had suddenly sped up, as if it had decided that there should be thirty seconds in an hour instead of sixty minutes.

Cold hands found the little packet of wonder, and he struck one.

There was a spark, but no flame was produced. He hit it again, and the frantic beating skipped over notes as a flame flickered from the small red head.

He didn't try to be silent as he ran back down the hallway, cupping one hand around the small flame to keep it alight. He hesitated once more in her doorway, a sense of dread falling over him.

Hastily, he dislodged a candle from its bracket on the wall, pressing the flame to its wick in order to light it. He shook the match to clear the blaze from it before letting it drop to the floor.

The dim candlelight shed knowledge to the first few feet of the room. He took a step inside.

His heart gave up and stopped beating all together; his breath caught in his chest. The only sound in the room was a rhythmatic drip drop.

Something sloshed about his feet.

He breathed, and looked down to see the well-known puddling of blood. It formed a lake around his feet, fed by an unknown source. The blood was ironically comforting to the demonic barber, and his eyes followed the stream of dark liquid to its begining.

Blood followed the seam of the bed sheet, the corner of the material already a bright crimson. He scuffled forward, the raising of his foot causing a sucking sound. The trail of blood carved its path over the mattress, outlining a familiar curve, gushing from a neck Todd had pressed his lips against so many times.

She was dead. Mrs. Lovett was dead. His mind seemed to rip apart into thousands of pieces.

Who could have done this? Who would kill the pie-maker, the only light in his life?

Longing for revenge coursed through his veins, setting his heart to pounding again, until he noticed the cause of her death.

A long cut ran across the woman's neck. A cut made by one blade and one blade only.

The razor. It was in his hand now. He didn't remember it being so before. It dripped the same metallic liquid as the sheets did, testifying to its crime.

He had done it. He had killed her.

He screamed.

And then Sweeney woke up to the real Mrs. Lovett shrieking his name.

"Mr. Todd!"

He blinked several times, the bloody scene of his dreams lingering in his vision, keeping him from what he really wanted to see.

A warm hand rested on his chest as she sat up, using her other arm for support.

"Are you alright, love?" she asked rather loudly.

He struggled into a sitting position, shuddering as the image finally disappeared.

"Yes, Mrs. Lovett," he replied, masking the fear and unsurity that had decided so inconveniently to rage through his system. "I'm fine. It was just a dream."

He watched the horror stricken look that masked her face for a split second before she hid it behind a veil of relief.

"Well that's good."

He knew that she thought he was having nightmares of Lucy again. She didn't know that she was the one now haunting his dreams, dreams that had changed from being about his beloved Lucy to visions of her own death. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8--

"Do you want ta talk about it, darlin'?" asked Mrs. Lovett sympathetically, half of her actually caring and the other half just wanting to know if every moment they had spent together had been in vain.

"No, Mrs. Lovett," he replied softly, his thumb stroking the side of her face. "I want you not to open shop today."

"And why ever would I think a doin' that?"

"Because, I want you to stay here with me all day." The barber felt that if the woman left his sight today, her death would be unstoppable.

"Oh." She seemed surprised, and the thought that it would be very nice to do such a thing appeared amidst everything else in her scattered mind. Meat didn't spoil that fast, did it? She would be okay if she waited one day, wouldn't she? "I suppose something could be worked out."

He smiled slightly at her, having known that the answer would be anything but no, and pulled her closer to him. She tensed as he did so, and he felt her nervousness radiate through her into him.

"Hush now," he whispered, pressing his cool lips to her forehead. "Don't act like we haven't done this before."

"Mr. T," she began, looking as if she was about to tell him something extremely horrible. "I can't..."

"Hm?" He thought he might've been mistaken. True, it had been almost a week since the two of them had taken to sexual intercourse, but he hadn't thought that much about it.

She wasn't looking at him anymore. This wasn't good, even he knew that much.

"I can't," she repeated again, and he blinked, now realizing he hadn't been mistaken.

There was an awkward pause in which he tore apart the emotions shown on her face, searching for an answer. Finally he just had to ask.

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, as if hoping that one word was the only answer she had to give.

"Because why?" he questioned, forcing her to explain.

"Because." She took a quick breath before continuing. "I'm pregnant."

It took a moment to for the seriousness of what she was telling him to set in. He stupidly asked, "What?"

A bit of the normal Mrs. Lovett returned, so she repeated, "I'm going to have a baby." When he didn't say anything, she added, "Your baby."

"You dirty woman; you're lying to me!"

"No I'm not!" She was clearly offended by his statement. He wished terribly that he could take it back, that he never had to see that hurt expression she currently had on her face.

"You do know what this means," he said softly, not wanting to anger her but wanting to make sure she had thought this through.

"Go on."

"It means your reputation is going to be ruined for having a baby without being married."

This thought had been prominent in her mind, and she had a solution. "We can get married."

The remark that he maybe didn't want to marry her sprang to his lips, but instead he said, "Maybe I'm not ready for any of this."

"Too bad."

"You wanted this to happen, didn't you?" He didn't seem that angry, only somewhat apprehensive.

"Well." She really had, but she had still been surprised when it had happened. "Not really. I thought I wasn't able to have children." Her eyes grew wider. "It really was Albert's fault all along."

The thought that the trouble in not having children in her first marriage had not really been her fault at all but her husbands was extremely comforting.

"Apparently so," growled the barber, lurching her from her not so friendly memories. He sighed, feeling slightly guilty. He was going to have to finally take some responsibility for his actions. Plus, he really didn't want Mrs. Lovett's reputation to be hurt.

So that meant one thing; that he and the pie maker were going to have to get married very very soon. He portrayed this thought to Mrs. Lovett.

"We're going to have to get married." The thought began to dawn on him. He was going to have to marry her. No matter how much he really preferred to have a private relationship, he was going to have to publically marry her somewhere. There had to be witnesses at a wedding. And then the baby... what if the same thing happened that happened with Johanna? What if something happened to him and he left his second child, fatherless and alone? No, he would make sure that didn't happen.

"Mr. T?"

He hadn't realized that he had been quiet for about five minutes. He hadn't even heard Mrs. Lovett's response to his statement.

"Yes?"

"Can we get married... by the sea?"

He had expected this question, but that didn't mean he had come up with an answer for it. The barber couldn't see any harm in where they ran off and got married at; surely if they didn't do it in London there would be a lot less ruckus.

"I suppose so, as long as it's quiet."

She accepted that knowing that he still didn't want to do this. But at the moment, that didn't really matter. Her mind was already planning what she had longed for all her life, and even if he was non-compliant, it wouldn't matter to her. 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9--

"I can't do this! I can't do this anymore!" Sweeney Todd pushed the baker roughly away, making sure to shove her in the shoulders as not to hurt what she was carrying inside her.

It had been two weeks. Two horribly horrendous weeks. Two weeks of listening to her rabble, two weeks of hauling carriages to take them back and forth from the sea. Two weeks of so many people asking him if he was marrying the baker, two weeks where, like always, he had to politely respond, ⌠No■.

That was it. He couldn't take it anymore.

"I am inot/i marrying you," growled the barber, glaring daggers at the only woman who would dare say otherwise.

"Then what do ya suggest we do?! I can't just ▒ave a baby with no ▒usband!"

They were standing in the pie shop. The morning sun light was slanted through the windows, giving way to a new day. Mrs. Lovett had just been preparing to take him to a tailor to get fitted for a suit. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay home and kill. But the baker had said differently. That had been the final straw.

"I'll take you away," replied the barber. He had a lot of time to think, to find another way they could do this without him actually having to marry her. "We'll go to Paris. Buy rings. Forge the document."

Mrs. Lovett stood looking at him, tears welling in the corners of her hazel eyes. She wanted a wedding. She wanted flowers and people and cake. Sweeney wanted nothing of the sort. And the problem was, when he didn▓t like the way something had to be done, he thought his own solution through thoroughly.  
She couldn't find a reason why his scheme wouldn't work.

"Fine," she whimpered, slumping down in a wooden, straight back chair meant for her customers. "And when do ya plan on leaving?"

The barber whisked her out of the chair, causing her to squeak in surprise.

"Right now," he breathed into her ear, smirking as she melted in his grasp. The sudden surge of dominance that he always felt when being close to her sprang up and he enjoyed it. The way she was powerless around him was one of the reasons he enjoyed her so much. One of the reasons he was willing to do this much.

"Oh, well then," she said, her voice, once she had finally found it, was uncertain. He obviously distracted her. "I'll go pack."

She pulled away, taken aback when he didn't let her go. Now that they were doing what he wanted to do, he was more than willing to be close to her.

"You do that." After this statement he let her go, hesitating a moment before whisking out of the shop. "How much money do you think we'll need?"

This caused the baker to pause. "Take all of it. That's better then leaving it 'ere, unattended."

He nodded slightly before exiting the shop. Mrs. Lovett sighed, watching where he had been standing for a few moments, before turning to head back to her bedroom. Now she had the daunting task of find her old suitcase. The woman had an idea of where it should be, and found it a few moments later stashed away in the bottom of her wardrobe. As she pulled it out, an old, yellowing piece of paper floated down to the ground. Curiosity pricked, the baker grabbed the note and read it aloud.

"My darling Margery," she said to herself, quick eyes taking in the few lines of text. "I expect you to move out of the shop when I die, so you should find this money to be of some help. Remember, I always loved you."

The note was signed Albert Lovett.

Reaching into the bag, she found five hundred pound notes.

"That little bugger!" she hissed. "I always hated him."

For in truth, she knew that Albert wouldn't have expected her to move out of the house, and that this had been his secret stash of gin money.

"The little bugger," she repeated, flipping through the money once more. Five hundred pounds. What she could've done with this last year┘

"Ready?" Sweeney was standing in the door way, tucking his own large some of money into a small black leather purse that was now latched on his belt next to two of his razors. She turned to him, holding up the new found money. He shrugged, taking it from her and adding it to what he already had.

"We don't 'ave ta work anymore. There's more than enough ta get us by right there," she suggested, dusting off the suitcase and shoving a few of her favorite dresses into it.

He let out a snort, showing that prospect was very unlikely. Even though dozens had died, he still wasn't satisfied. "I doubt that, Mrs. Lovett. If you're having trouble running shop, we can always get another boy for downstairs."

She gasped. "But then he would know!"

"I'm well aware of that fact. You wouldn't be able to let him out, and if he got too frisky, we could just kill him."

"We?!"

He took a few moments before speaking again. "I could just kill him."

"Mmmm." That idea didn't bode well with her, but they would do what they had to to get by. She closed the suitcase and he lugged it out into the shop. The old one he had arrived here with was also there, and the baker could hear the sound of horses beating their hooves against the cobblestone coming from outside.

They were really going to do this. They were going to ipretend/i to get married.

For some reason, this idea didn't sit as well with the baker as killing men did, even though the punishment was much less.

But she would do as the barber told her to, and this is what the barber told her to do. So she followed him into the carriage, wondering what would be in store for them once they arrived in Paris. 


End file.
